


Spam Filter

by HopefulNebula



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Jewish Character, Case Fic, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Humor, POV Third Person, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/pseuds/HopefulNebula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days, they're going to learn to <em>not touch the artifacts</em>.</p><p>Today is not that day.</p><p>Tomorrow doesn't look good either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spam Filter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minkhollow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minkhollow/gifts).



> This one is entirely minkhollow's fault. Don't blame me. Or do blame me, if you like it. Either way, this is dedicated to her.
> 
> This takes place in early season 3.

**Wednesday**

It begins, as so many things do, with a mysterious letter.

It's not the letter itself that's a mystery. Leena knows it's not really from the recently-deposed Prince of Nigeria. The mystery, Leena thinks as she balls the paper up and tosses it into the recycle bin, is that people evidently still send those scams through the mail.

**Thursday**

"Huh," Leena says as she goes through the day's mail. "I got one of these yesterday."

She almost takes the liberty of throwing it away on Steve's behalf, but decides he could use the laugh.

**Friday**

"Seriously," Claudia tells Steve after dinner that night. "You'd think whoever the big drug companies pay to do their advertising would actually worry about demographics. I mean, I get enough of this crap online, but some pharma company actually paid actual money to send me a flyer advertising their manly, manly products."

Artie comes in from the kitchen, tray of hot oatmeal-chocolate-chip cookies in hand. "Dessert's ready," he says. "What's this about manly products?"

"Nothing," Claudia replies. "Just comparing spam."

Artie frowns a little, but decides not to press the issue.

**Saturday**

A ping comes in from Brazil -- there's a soccer ball concussing the inhabitants of a small town near Rio -- and when he's done briefing Pete and Myka on the situation, Artie gets the mail.

"Is it just me," he asks Leena, "or is this more than usual?"

"It isn't just you. I'm hoping we just got on the wrong mailing list."

"Me too. But... all of us?"

"I know what you're getting at," Leena replies. "But my grandfather kept getting junk mail addressed to his wife for ten years after she died, even after he moved. We need to wait one more day."

"Or two."

"Excuse me?"

"Tomorrow's Sunday."

"Oh, of course."

**Sunday**

Artie can't resist opening the mailbox at Leena's every time he passes by it. He knows it'll be empty.

He's afraid it won't be.

**Monday**

The mailbox is so full that their letter carrier leaves it open.

"Well, that settles it," Artie grumbles.

Leena admits to getting the first letter, but doesn't remember touching the original Spanish Prisoner's shackles.

"It doesn't mean you didn't," Artie replies. "I have half a mind to go on strike until Mrs. Frederic agrees to pay for some mesh for the shelves."

Leena goes to touch the shackles again. No way is she going to get involved in this argument.

**Tuesday**

Leena is really looking forward to opening the mailbox today.

Until she gets an angry phone call from Brenda at the post office, telling her to come pick up the two large bags of mail addressed to the B&B.

She calls Artie on the way to the post office, and Artie pulls Steve and Claudia out of doing inventory so all four of them can have a chat.

"It turns out Leena only made it worse by touching the shackles yesterday," he tells them. "If she'd been the one who touched them originally, she would have nullified their effect instead of amplifying it."

"Wait, what aisle is it in?" Steve asks.

"Lincoln 32-9," Leena replies. "I was in Lincoln last week but I don't remember touching it."

"Because you didn't," Claudia says. She leans back against Artie's desk, using her hands to support her weight. "Somebody else did. But I didn't get any 'cheap man pills' spam IRL until after your first letter."

"Neither did I," Steve adds. He pokes one of the mailbags with his toes, and the penny drops for all four of them. "Oh, god."

The next several moments are a flurry of speech.

"What time is it in Rio right now?"

"I don't _care_ what time it is in Rio. I'm waking them up if I have to. Where's my--"

"Under the giant pile of papers you haven't sorted yet."

Artie knocks the papers out of order and flips his Farnsworth open. Myka's the one who answers.

"Artie, we almost have it," she tells him before he has a chance to say anything. "The thing teleports away anytime you look directly at it. Pete's working on a plan--"

"Put him on too. I need you both."

Myka looks away for a second, beckoning Pete into the frame of the video.

"'Sup?" he asks.

"Which one of you touched a rusty old pair of shackles in Lincoln 32-9 last week?" Artie asks, his voice deep and clear.

Nobody is particularly surprised that Pete's the one who raises his hand. "I, uh, may have tripped over them. Possibly."

"What did you get in the mail the next day?"

"A letter from my bank saying I was in overdraft. Except I checked online, and the website said I wasn't. When I called them, they said my account was fine and the letter had been a mistake."

Artie tries not to sigh too loudly. "All right. The two of you need to bag that soccer ball and fly back here, pronto."

Pete smiles a little bit, despite the trouble he knows he's in. "Myka, you heard the man. I think if we can lure the ball onto the soccer field, we can trap it in the goal..."

Artie closes the Farnsworth.

**Wednesday**

Pete and Myka get back early in the morning, and they go straight to the Warehouse. Myka and Leena stay in Artie's office to debate where to put the ball Pelé scored his last World Cup goal with, and Artie accompanies Pete to the Lincoln section.

"Hopefully they haven't sorted the mail at the local office yet," Artie says. "Left turn here... If they have, then we'll be getting another angry phone call from Brenda at the post office."

"Look, I really _am_ sorry about what happened. I wore my gloves putting it back on the shelf, and nothing out of the ordinary happened after I tripped, so I figured I was safe."

"You can be really sorry later. The shackles end up on the floor all the time. It could have happened to anyone. But-- here we are."

Pete isn't sure what to expect from touching this artifact again. When he does, a couple of small sparks fly into the air around his bare hand.

"Well, then," Artie says. "That's settled. We won't have to pay for Brenda to go to a chiropractor. But we still have two bags of junk mail to go through. That would be a _perfect_ job for you, don't you think?"

"I thought deactivating it would make all the spam go away?" Pete asks.

"Only what hasn't been delivered yet. Anyway, you can drive with Leena to the recycling yard in Rapid City if you want. But I think I might have a better idea."

"Yeah?"

"We have a supply of shipping boxes in the attic. Fill them. I'll take care of the rest."

**Friday**

Mrs. Frederic's bodyguard opens the boxes, but doesn't say anything about their contents.

The enclosed note reads:

_This is what happens when we don't have wire mesh like I've asked for a hundred times._

_-AN_

She closes her eyes and counts to twenty.

Clearly, this is going to be a very long day.

**Author's Note:**

> The [Spanish Prisoner](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spanish_Prisoner) is the grandparent of the "deposed Nigerian prince" we all get emails about nowadays.
> 
> And yes, I know mail delivery isn't really a Thing in Univille. Hush. Rule of funny applies.


End file.
